Sukrita Paul Kumar (Kenya/india) was born and brought up in Kenya and is at present living in Delhi. She held the Aruna Asaf Ali Chair at the University of Delhi, till recently. An Honorary Fellow of International Writing Programme, University of Iowa (USA) and a former Fellow of the Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla, she was also an invited poet in residence at Hong Kong Baptist University. She has published several collections of poems in English including, Folds of Silence, Without Margins, Rowing Together and Apurna. Her poems selected and translated by the eminent lyricist Gulzar has been published by HarperCollins as a bilingual book, Poems Come Home. Sukrita’s major critical works include Narrating Partition, Conversations on Modernism.

 

 

Deutsch

NACH WAHRHEIT

 

Der abstrakteste Berg

Da draußen, inmitten der Wolken

Ist in der Tat am geerdetsten,

am konkretesten

 

Wie meine Trauer

maskiert von fröhlichem Tanzen

Und Gelächter inmitten den Menschen

 

*

Was für ein Orchester, was für eine Harmonie

Die Koels und Elstern als führende Stimmen

Der Klickschlag männlicher Zikaden

Mit vibrierenden und brummenden Bäuchen

Der gutturale Ruf der Eule

inmitten des Zwitscherns der Spatzen

 

Alle Musik läuft davon

Raag Avian verfällt in ein Getöse

Der Traum wird zum Albtraum

 

Wenn  es  kein Bissen in der weit

geöffneten Schüssel des versunkenen Kindes gibt

Und das nackte Mädchen keine Deckung

vor männlichen Triebtätern erhält

 

Übersetzt von Ishan Mustajab Shah

 

 

 

English

 

POST TRUTH

 

The most abstract mountain

Out there, amidst the clouds

Is in fact the most grounded,

the most concrete

 

Like my sorrow

masked by joyful dancing

And laughter amidst people

 

*

What an orchestra, what harmony

The koels and magpies as lead voices

The clicking beat by male cicadas

With abdomens vibrating and buzzing

The guttural hooting of the owl

amidst the chirrup of the sparrows

 

All music goes astray

Raag Avian crumbles into a din

The dream becomes a nightmare

 

When there’s not a morsel in

The gaping bowl of the shrunken child

And the naked girl gets no cover

From male predators